I was getting some things done, buzzing around the house while John and the boys walked down to our neighbor’s house. Soon they returned, with some fresh brown eggs in a carton and a two-handled grocery sack.
I’d been decorating the house for autumn, placing candles and grapevine and tucking bits of my favorite season into every corner I could. In the midst of this, John came with these: volunteers from our neighbor’s compost bed, a collection of lumpy, bumpy, so-ugly they’re beautiful gourds to decorate our fall table.
I was full of delight: sometimes I’ve bought these to decorate with in the past, but this year I was using only what I already had. And yet onto my table tumbled these lovelies, in all their green and gold and cream and orange brilliance.
I filled a thrifted silver basket with them.
They made me happy
See, I am a muller and a muser, with a decided tilt toward melancholy at times. Always jockeying in my head are theologies and theories and contemplations, wonderings about how my introverted self bumps up against the world, questions of parenting and wifing and politics and community. At times I wear myself out.
So when something just surprises me into a smile and a little burst of happy takes me out of my head, I’ve learned to receive it as the gift it is. To hold out my hands that can tear ideas to bits and just cup them, receive, hold, and be grateful.
For the weekend, I wish you a sack of happy, dropped on your doorstep– the first rich brown aroma of coffee on a cool morning, a flaming tree lit by the last afternoon rays, a child’s soft warmth pressed against you. All your ruminations and wrestlings will still be there later. So take that moment of spark, laughter, whimsy, and just live it.